


Quarantined Together

by trappedoutside124



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Sharing a Bed, its quarantine time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:41:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23183431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trappedoutside124/pseuds/trappedoutside124
Summary: Old college friends Ben and Rey are forced into quarantine together after attending their friend's wedding. Two weeks of being trapped together--what could go wrong?
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 8
Kudos: 52





	Quarantined Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [3todream3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/3todream3/gifts).



> inspired by the quarantine situation happening around the world right now. please tell me what you think!

The rain drops clicked steadily onto the cement driveway outside of my screened in porch. For at the last two hours, that steady clicking was my soundtrack as I counted how many cracks were on the ceiling. I methodically swept my eyes back and forth across the room, trying to count as many as possible. All the while, the rain continued its song outside. 

We were only three days into quarantine, and life had ground to a halt. Every second seemed to take three times as long as usual, and every hour felt like a week. We were too bored to even turn on the TV and scroll through the channels. In the distance, I could hear the faint lull of the ocean as it rocked against the shore. If I had to be quarantined anywhere, at least it was at the beach. 

It was the sound of the ocean and the click of the raindrops that lulled me in and out of sleep on the ratted couch on the front porch. Every so often my eyelids would droop close, my hand falling to my side. When I woke up I foolishly hoped that a miraculous 11 days would have passed, and we could finally leave this beach town and go home. Each time, only a few minutes had passed. 

Movement from the kitchen woke me up. I lifted my head off the couch and peeked around the door, where I could see Ben moving cups around. “How was your nap?” I called, making a mental note of how many cracks I’d counted so far (82, give or take some). 

“Any news?” He responded, ignoring my question. I stood up and stretched my arms to the sky. 

“I haven’t checked the TV, but I also haven’t seen any texts on my phone either.” 

Ben sighed, running a hand through his mop of black hair. He looked beyond me to the steady rain out the window. “Of all the places to get quarantined, of course we’re at the beach. And we can’t even go to the beach since we’re on house arrest.” The coffee pot beeped and he poured us both a mug. Two sugars for him, and vanilla creamer only for me. He knew it by heart. He walked through the kitchen, into the living room, and onto our porch, sitting down on the porch swing across from me. The gray-blue hue of his eyes reflected the weather outside. 

We hadn’t meant to be at the beach when the state-wide quarantine started. We were hear for our friends’ wedding. When the virus first popped up in the U.S., it didn’t seem like that big of a deal. Rose and Finn proceeded with the wedding thinking it would all be okay. Since Ben was a groomsman and I was the maid of honor, there was no question of whether we would go or not. Rose was my college roommate and my closest friend; no inconsequential virus could stop me from helping her have the most perfect wedding ever. 

It turns out the virus was worse than we originally thought. 

By the time the reception was ending, the CDC had notified us that the state was going on lockdown. No one in or out without necessary papers showing that you were virus-free. “Maybe you should go,” a concerned Rose told us at the reception, “you guys aren’t from here, and if they lock down the city then you’ll be stuck!”

“They won’t do that, Rose,” Ben said with an eye-roll, pausing to take a sip of wine, “Besides, I’m way to drunk to drive home tonight!” Our group of friends laughed at that; Ben had never been drunk in his life. He hated the feeling of not having control over his body. 

Me, however, had no qualms with losing control. And that night, Rose, myself, and the rest of our college friends partied like it was the end of the world. By the time the night was over, Ben tugged me into my car and drove me back to my parent’s beach shack that the two of us were staying the night in. The rest of our friends were headed back the other way, only about an hour away from the beach. Ben and I lived closer inland, about four and a half hours away. Because of the distance, we just decided to carpool together to the wedding and spend the night at the beach instead of driving home in the dark. 

One can imagine how angry we were when we woke up the next morning to the news that all cities were quarantined individually, enforced by the state and local police. 

For two weeks. 

After some frantic calls, we learned that Rose and Finn had left for home right after the wedding, as did the rest of our friends. We frantically threw everything into our suitcases and tried to joint the wave of people trying to leave the island before the quarantine could actually be enforced, but that didn’t work either. So, we headed for the grocery store and stocked up on as much food as we could afford instead. For the last three days, we’d been cooped up in this two-bedroom, 1-bath house decorated with beach-themed accessories from the late 80s. Thank God my parents had installed wifi within the last five years or we might both be dead of boredom. 

We sipped our coffee in silence and watched the rain fall down. 

“How’s your family?” Ben asked. 

“They’re good. Stuck at home, but good. Yours?”

“Mom is at the house and the cats are keeping her company.” He sipped from his coffee some more, and the rain kept coming. At least the sun was starting to peek out, warming up the grey world outside. My hands were itching for a paintbrush, a canvas, and some watercolors. My art studio back home was sitting vacant and all my tools were locked away in it. Painting always helped me detach from the world, and I needed it now more than ever. 

“I was thinking of making ham-and-cheese sandwiches for dinner. Thoughts?” I asked, peering over the top of my cup. 

Ben groaned. “I would give anything for a McDonald’s hamburger right now. I would give my left arm for a McDonald’s hamburger.” 

“Remember the time we all went to that 24 hour McDonald’s and spent, what, like four hours there, eating as much food from the dollar menu as we could afford?” “Was that the winter when they closed campus over the snowstorm?”

“Yeah, but McDonald’s stayed open.”  
“They always seemed to stay open for us.” Ben said with a smile. 

“God, that feels like a lifetime ago. Now we all have grown-up jobs and never get to see each other. Me and you live in the same city but this is the first time I’ve seen you since we graduated a year ago!” 

“Hey, business consulting is a busy line of work!” 

I rolled my eyes at him. “I just miss when life seemed simpler.” 

Ben looked out the window. “I miss a lot of things from life back then.” 

I gulped and picked up my now empty coffee cup, taking it to the kitchen. I glossed past his answer and hoped he didn’t see how red my face was. “Well, I guess I have to be careful what I wish for since life is pretty damn simple at the moment.” 

Ben picked up his coffee cup and set it next to mine at the sink. “Give me about an hour and then I’ll be hungry enough for ham and cheese sandwiches.” he said nonchalantly, heading into his bedroom. “I’m gonna take a shower. I smell bad.” I wrinkled my nose at him as he walked away, moving effortlessly away from his conversation as if we almost didn’t breach the subject I’d been tiptoeing around since before the wedding. 

When we’d graduated university, everyone thought Ben and I would end up together. Despite all the differences, we always seemed to find each other. I was a five-foot-eight art and graphic design double major while he was a six-foot-two business consulting major with a concentration in international business. I was a worrier, while he was go with the flow. Our entire friend group was a mesh of different people and personalities who shouldn’t work, all thrown together by fate into one hall in our freshman dormitory. Somehow, we’d managed to stick together all four years of college. 

Ben and I dated on and off throughout college, never really defining things. When there was an event to go to, we went as each others’ dates. When it was a holiday, we got each other little trinkets as gifts. That being said, we never defined what we were. The only official couple in our group was Rose and Finn, and they took everyone by complete surprise. Everyone assumed that one day, Ben and I would end up together. 

Of course, there had been valid reasons that we weren’t together. Ben didn’t like to mince words, and was hopelessly blunt sometimes. I was sensitive and empathetic, and didn’t like his confrontational nature. He also liked to push my buttons, resulting in some pretty big fights between us. But somehow, we always made it back to each other. 

“Rey, you’re going to live in the same freaking city as him!” Rose exclaimed to me last May as we prepared for graduation, “there’s no way you two won’t make it official.” 

Well, we all graduated nearly a year ago. Ben and I moved to the same city. And we hadn’t spoken more than a few sentences to each other since then. He went to the business-center of the city, full of men in suits and cell phones constantly ringing. I moved to the artsy-boho side, where we all lived in studio apartments with rents much too high for comfort. At first, we tried our best to meet up together, but nothing had ever worked out. Eventually, we got too busy to keep trying to mesh up our schedules. If it hadn’t been for the invite to the wedding, we probably would’ve lost touch altogether. 

Since we’d been at the beach, the subject of our relationship had been broached, but not quite addressed. If talking about it meant making then next 11 days unbearable, than I’d rather talk about anything else. 

Five days in, we still hadn’t talked about it. We’d eaten 11 meals together, played over 25 rounds of scrabble, built a few blanket forts, and even marathoned a local telenovela together. Still, we both refused to talk about our past. 

A week into quarantine, that changed. 

It was 1:00 AM, and I couldn’t sleep. I’d taken an extra long nap that day, and now my sleep schedule was completely screwed up. I tossed and turned in my bedroom incessantly before resigning myself to be awake and tired the next morning. I crept out of my room and into the kitchen, rustling the cabinets to find a good midnight snack to eat while I laid awake. 

“Couldn’t sleep, either?” A voice said from the couch in the kitchen. 

I jumped a mile high and my phone skittered across the floor. “God, Ben, you scared me to death!” I clutched my heart and gripped the counter. Ben grinned at me from the couch where he was reading. He bent down to pick up my phone and handed it to me. 

“Sorry, I’ve been out here reading for about an hour. I can’t sleep either.” 

“Took a nap today, too?” I asked, willing my heart rate to go back down. 

“No, just had a lot to think about.” 

“Want to talk about it?” I asked before I could stop myself. Talking to someone about feelings at 1:00 PM? Relatively safe. Talking about feelings to someone at 1 AM? Not safe. Things were different at 1:00 AM; the things that were said couldn’t be taken back. 

As if to prove my point, Ben set his book down on the coffee table and scooted his legs down the couch so I could sit at his feet. I grabbed a water bottle and sat down, pulling some of his blanket over my own legs. 

“I was thinking about us.” 

I choked on my water and coughed for a few seconds and Ben grimaced. “Sorry, went down the wrong way!” I tried to laugh and seem nonchalant. “Ahem. What do you mean?”

Ben cracked his knuckles anxiously. “It’s just that—look, I love my job. I love my life. But seeing Rose and Finn and everyone at the wedding, seeing you at the wedding, it just reminded me of how much fun we had in college. Now, everything I do seems to be so adult. I wish we could act like kids again with no consequences.” 

“We could build a blanket fort if you want?” I joked.  
“No, that’s not what I mean. I mean…when we were in college, I could make a mistake and have it roll off my back because I was in college and college kids make mistakes. Now, everyone around me feels like we’re walking at ten miles a minute on treadmill that’s going nowhere. One mistake and everything blows up.”

He suddenly gestured to me. “Meanwhile, you get to sit in your art studio downtown and paint the day away with no cares in the world. You never had to grow up.” 

“Wait, what?” I asked, sitting up. “You think just because I’m a painter I never had to grow up?” 

He rolled his eyes. “C’mon Rey, you know what I mean.” 

“No!” I said loudly, “I don’t know! Please enlighten me.” 

“Well, your job isn’t as stressful as most people’s jobs are. You’re a painter; you get to paint all day and get paid for it.” 

I blinked at him, mouth open in shock. “Ben, do you know how much art supplies cost? Or how much renting a studio space costs? I’m renting it with six other artists and living with all of them in the room above the studio to save money on rent. Do you know how hard I work to sell my paintings to people? I live paycheck to paycheck!” 

“Yeah, but that’s your choice. You chose a poor job.” 

“What, and your job is so much better? You sit in a cubicle all day, typing on your computer, and being depressed. That’s what you do.” 

Now, Ben was annoyed. “Actually, that’s not what I do. At all.”

“Yes it is. You sit in your office in your suit and hate your job all day. At least I love what I do!” 

Ben sat up straighter and rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t hate my job, Rey, I actually—wait, why are we even fighting over this? This wasn’t my point!”

I got up off the couch and shoved my water bottle in the fridge. “We’re fighting over this because you’re an ass, Ben. I’m going to bed.” 

“Rey, wait. Please?” He said, clearly exasperated. I ignored him and went straight to my room, closing the door. This fight wasn’t new to me. My friends, my parents, my professors all thought that being an artist was a stupid job. I knew it didn’t pay well, and I knew that I wouldn’t be living the life of luxury that some of my other friends would be. But guess what? I was happy. I was doing what I loved. 

After I slammed my door, I heard a groan from the living room, and then another door slam a few minutes later. This routine wasn’t new to Ben and I, either. This was similar to other “fights” we used to have, seemingly small issues turned to large ones in the matter of minutes. 

“This was inevitable,” I thought to myself. “Put Ben and I together in a confined space for two weeks and we were bound to kill each other.” 

Days 8 and 9 were spent in relative silence after the fight. Both of us ate our meals in our rooms and alternated sitting in the living room. My boredom was at an all time high with no one to talk to, so I slept more than I needed. On the morning of day 10, I woke up to a note slid under my door. 

“I’m sorry. Please accept a breakfast of toast and butter with sprinkles on it as an apology.” it read in Ben’s scribbly handwriting. I smiled and opened the door, heading to the kitchen. Ben was at the table reading his book, and a plate of what we called “fairy toast” was sitting in front of him: toast with butter, a little bit of sugar, and sprinkles. Completely unhealthy and completely delicious. I smiled and sighed. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Ben.” I said as I walked in, plopping down at the table. Ben jolted, looking up from his book and standing up when he saw me. 

“No, I was being an ass. I’m sorry.” 

“How about we share the blame and acknowledge that both of us will go crazy if we have to sit in this house in silence for another day?” I said, already finished with one slice of toast. I reached out my hand. Ben smiled and shook it heartily. “So, what should we do today? We only have four days of quarantine left.” I slipped my hand out of his and tried to ignore the way my skin tingled. 

Ben wiped his hands on his jeans and closed his book. “Blanket fort?” 

I shoved the last piece of toast in my mouth and nodded. “Blanket fort.” 

It took the two of us all day, but we managed to make the worlds best blanket fort. Nearly every piece of furniture was utilized, and every single towel, blanket, or piece of linen we had was used as well. We took two breaks for lunch and dinner, but other than that we worked all day. When we were done, we had created a masterpiece.  
The living room was unrecognizable. White bedsheets stretched from the living room to the kitchen, attached to lamps and picture frames by tape and elastic. Towels covered the ends of the fort from light streaming in from the windows. Fitted sheets and comforters lined the floor to give us something plush to lie on. We layered blankets on top of each other until the only light coming in the fort was from our phones, and from Ben’s pocket reading-light he used when he wanted to read books on planes. Couch cushions, throw pillows, and bed pillows were scattered around us. 

“Now this is a blanket fort.” I said, sitting back on my heels to marvel at our handiwork around us. My hair was piled high off of my neck, and Ben had pulled his hair into a short ponytail at the nape of his neck, too. The fort was as hot as it was immaculate. 

“Only took us a whole damn day.” Ben said, laying back onto the floor. I plopped down next to him, stretching out. He was a giant next to me. 

“We should sleep in here,” I told him through a yawn. “We spent all day making it and we don’t even have sheets or pillows anymore to sleep with.” 

“It would be a real shame to have to destroy such a masterpiece,” Ben said in agreement. He grabbed a couple pillows from across the floor and arranged them so that we’d each have a pillow, and there’d be a couple in between us. All of the sudden, the gravity of what we were doing hit me and I felt sheepish. 

“Which blanket do you want?” He asked, obviously not feeling the embarrassment that I felt. Or, he wasn’t showing it, at least. I pointed to the comforter I usually sleep with, leaving him with the big purple throw blanket we kept on the couch. He switched off his pocket-lamp, leaving us in our fort in complete darkness. I could feel him breathing next to me from across the pillow bridge he created. 

“Rey?” He whispered. 

“Yeah?” 

“I don’t think you’re job is stupid.” 

“I don’t think you’re job is stupid, either.” I whispered back. Then, silence. 

Finally he spoke up again. “I’ve missed hanging out with you.” 

In the darkness, I smiled to myself. “I missed hanging out with you, too, Ben.” 

I felt him shift, wrapping the purple blanket around him. I did the same, turning the other direction with my comforter. The rain had started again, and the sound of the muffled pitter-patter on the roof lulled me to sleep as it had for the past few days. I cuddled the warmth of the blanket around me, and wasn’t awake for too much longer. 

The next time I woke up, it was the morning of Day 11. I knew it was morning because I could hear some of the birds chirping, and the early morning light had filtered through some of our sheets. A few of the towels had fallen during the night as well, letting more light into our fort. I took a minute to adjust to my unusual surroundings, so at first I didn’t notice the change of positioning from last night. Quickly, though, everything came to me at once. 

Somehow, throughout the night, the pillow-bridge had collapsed, letting Ben and myself scoot closer to each other. Now, he had one arm tucked around my shoulder, and my head was laying on his chest. One of my arms was thrown across his chest as well, which was moving up and down as he breathed deeply. Clearly, he was still asleep. 

In a panic, I weighed my options. I could try to extract myself slowly and crawl out of the fort. Or, I could quickly unfurl myself and risk waking him up. A third option was for me to stay put and pretend to still be asleep. When we woke up, I could let him deal with it. 

So that’s what I did. 

I waited in that position for another half hour, my head on Ben’s chest and his arm pulling my shoulders closer. Finally, I knew he was awake when I felt him attempt to stretch out his arms and legs before coming to the same dilemma that I did. His heart rate quickened, and I could almost audibly hear the gears turning in his head as he weighed his options. After a moment, he surprised me. 

Instead of trying to extract his arm from behind my head and bow out, he rolled towards me. Now, we were chest to chest. He pulled me closer and put his chin on the top of my head and breathed deeply. From this angle, he would be able to feel my heartbeat through my back if he wanted, and he’d know that I was awake. I still decided to risk it and feign sleep, relaxing into his hold. 

Eventually, I did fall back asleep for another hour. I was woken up by his rumbling voice. “Do you think we should start the day now?” I hesitated answering.

“I’m good with this if you are.” I squeaked out, keeping my eyes closed. I felt his laugh in his chest. 

“Good plan.” Now that he knew I was awake, he didn’t mind moving around. He turned over, and I instinctively followed, wrapping my arms and legs around him. He moved a hand to rub my arm absentmindedly. 

This was a familiar situation. In college, Ben and I would often have sleepovers, especially when we moved off campus. Usually we’d go out together Saturday night with friends, I’d get drunk and he’d get tipsy at most, and we’d stumble back to one of our apartments where we’d fall in bed together. The next morning, whoever woke up first would make some anti-hangover breakfast for the two of us. Or, if it was a particularly rough night, we’d lay in bed for as long as possible and go out to eat when we eventually decided to face the world. 

However, for the next four days, we didn’t have to face the world. 

After the waking up in the blanket fort, things changed between us. We cleaned up the fort, cooked breakfast, and did what we’d done for the past two weeks. But, things were different. When we cooked, Ben would come up behind me and wrap his arms around me, putting his chin on my head to watch what I’m doing. When we watched TV, he would lay his back against my chest on the couch and let me braid his long black hair. We played Scrabble and Monopoly and Sudoko with one or more limbs always in contact with the other. And on the night of the 12th day in Quarantine, Ben crawled into bed with me and we slept next to each other all night. 

After what seemed like an eternity, Day 14 arrived: our last day in quarantine. After day 14, we would be able to pack up all our things and drive home, back to the city where I’d drop Ben off at his apartment uptown and I’d go back to my shared loft downtown. We’d fall back into our habit of not talking, and it everything that happened over the past two weeks would seem like a fever dream. 

Needless to say, I was not looking forward to it. 

Day 14 was somber. We woke up and made breakfast together silently, trying to use the last of our groceries so nothing would go to waste. It was a beautiful day outside, which made it that much more painful that we had to spend it indoors. Neither of us talked much; we just spent time together. We knew that when the silence was broken, we’d have to address life after quarantine, and that was a bandaid neither of us was ready to rip off. 

In the end, it was Ben who spoke first. 

I had been dozing on the couch to the sound of the TV while Ben absentmindedly played with my hair. Then, Ben got up and walk purposefully to the kitchen, waking me up. He grabbed an old picnic basket from under the sink and put a bottle of white wine I’d purchased at the beginning of the two weeks, a blanket, and his pocket-lamp inside. 

“Let’s go have a picnic on the beach.” he said with a smile. 

I blinked at him. “Ben, it’s 8 PM and we’re in quarantine. We can’t go outside.” 

Ben shrugged. “It’s our last day at the beach. And who’s gonna tell on us? We’re probably the only people in the neighborhood right now.” 

I looked at him. He looked at me right back, not budging. I sighed and hopped up, grabbing my sandals and my phone. “Lead the way.” 

We walked to the end of the neighborhood where there was public beach access and walked onto the sand. Ben was right; the beach was deserted. The last light had left the sky, so all that was above us what bright stars painted across the heavens. Ben laid down the picnic blanket and we plopped down. We forgot glasses, so we took turns sipping wine from the bottle and laughing like we were kids trying not to get caught. 

Maybe it was the wine, or the fact that our new normal was about to be disrupted, but something prompted me to open my mouth. “I don’t want things to go back to normal,” I said suddenly and loudly. Ben just looked at me and didn’t respond. I stared back and said it again. 

“I don’t want to go back to us not talking to each other.” 

“I don’t either,” Ben said just as matter-o-factly. I was suddenly hyper aware of how close we were. He put a hand on mine. I pushed a strand of hair out of his face. He was leaning closer to me, and my eyes were closing—

—and then I felt a rain drop. I pulled away suddenly, looking to the sky. As if on cue, the heavens opened up on us. “Grab everything!” I yelled, searching blindly for my shoes. I grabbed our half-drunk bottle of wine (that was filling with water fast) while he shoved the blanket back into the picnic basket. I grabbed his hand and we took off, slipping and sliding in the wet sand. By the time we made it back to the house, we were drenched. 

We slammed the door behind us as it thundered overhead. Ben tossed the picnic basket to the ground and I poured the rest of the cheap, watered-down wine down the sink. Then, we stared at each other. 

Ben snorted. 

I giggled, 

And then we were doubled over, howling with laughter. I leaned forward, grabbing his arm for support. He helped me up, putting a hand on my shoulder. I leaned into it.  
And then, the laughter stopped. And he kissed me. 

Suddenly, we weren’t two 23 year olds in the middle of a quarantine. We were two 20 year old college students, sitting on the quad in between classes, kissing each other like we had nothing else to worry about, no other place to go. I suddenly felt like this piece of me that had been missing for the last year was finally back. Everything felt in sync. My heart was hammering in my chest as he pulled me closer. I stood on my tiptoes to reach his lips. 

He was everything that I remembered. Warm and sturdy and grounding. He was a breath of fresh air and a wave of nostalgia.  
He was Ben. 

I don’t know when we eventually went to bed. But Day 15 did come, and we had to leave. 

We packed in silence, stopping for a quick (or not-so-quick) kiss every now and again. I halfway hoped to get a text from our statewide alert system saying that the quarantine was being extended for another week. But, nothing happened. So, I locked the door to the beach house behind us, and we put all of our things into my car, and we drove away. 

When we got back to the city, I dropped Ben off outside of his apartment. I hopped out to help him get everything out of the trunk before awkwardly turning to face him. “Well, I guess this is goodbye.” I said, embarrassingly emotional. Ben nodded. I thought he was going to turn away without saying anything, but he suddenly reached down and pulled me into a kiss. When he pulled away, he smiled down at me. “No, it’s not.” 

I drove back to my loft and was greeted warmly by my roommates. After a few days, everything fell back into its old routine. I ran my painting classes downstairs, Ben worked in his cubicle uptown, and we didn’t talk or text. After a week, I had convinced myself that the two weeks in quarantine were an anomaly and a funny story I could tell over wine and cheese with friends. Nothing more, nothing less. 

That is, until I got a text from Ben over a week after we’d gotten home. It was a Friday night, and I was cleaning the brushes in the studio when my phone beeped. I expected it to be my mom or Rose, but was pleasantly surprised when it was from Ben. 

“I have a runny nose and a cough. I think I’m sick. Want to be my quarantine buddy?” the text read. A few seconds later, a photo popped in behind it of a stack of blankets, pillows, and two bottles of red wine. “Before you say no, I’ve got all the necessities.” 

I smiled. “Be there in five with toast and sprinkles,” I wrote back, already heading upstairs to grab my car keys.


End file.
